Shelter

“Don’t move,” he said.

He was shorter than James, choking him from below. James strained to look into his eyes. They were dark, yet at the same time, bright, green. He’d never seen an eye color like that before. The boy didn’t look like he had any strength to his frame, and yet, James was completely unable to move. It wasn’t a feat the average person could accomplish.

“I see,” James managed to gasp out, a small grin forming at the corners of his lips. “You’re used to doing this.”

The eyes that stared back at him were hypnotizing. Unblinking green emeralds fixed on James, but he felt no fear, or malicious intent. If anything, the eyes calmed him, drawing him into a deep forest. He could feel his panic subsiding.

“I’ll treat your wound,” James said, licking his lips. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? I’ll treat it.”

For a moment, James felt like he could get lost in the intruder's eyes. His reflection stared back at him, swimming in pools of green. He tore his gaze away, repeating himself.

“I’ll treat the wound. You should probably try to stop the bleeding. I can help you. Treat.” He drew out the word, as if coaxing a wounded animal. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

The grip around James’ neck loosened slightly.

“James.”

Euphemia’s voice carried over the intercom. “You have the window open, don’t you.”

James sucked in a breath. Everything was fine. Just another normal day. He could talk just fine. The storm outside roared as if to disagree, and James glanced up to see the curtains blowing behind the intruder's shoulder. 

“The window?… Oh yeah, it’s open.”

“You’ll catch a cold if you don’t close it.”

“I know.”

James could hear his mother laughing on the other end.

“You turn twelve today but you still act like a child sometimes.”

“Okay, I get it… Oh, Mom?”

“What?”

“I have a report to write. Can you leave me alone for a bit?”

“A report? Haven’t you just been accepted into the Gifted Curriculum?”

“Huh? Oh… well, I have a lot of assignments to do.”

“I see… don’t overwork yourself. Make sure to be down for dinner.”

Cold fingers retreated from James’ throat. He coughed once, happy to now be free. He stretched his hand out to restart the air control system, but made sure to leave the security system off. If he didn’t, it would detect the intruder as a foreign presence, and would set off a piercing alarm. If this person was a legitimate resident of No. 6 that wouldn’t happen, but James didn’t imagine the soaked individual before him was a citizen.

The window closed, and warm air began to circulate throughout the room. James grabbed him by the hand, oblivious to how the other boy startled as he was dragged down the hallway.

After entering James’ room, the green-eyed intruder half-collapsed into a kneel, and leaned against the bed. He let out a long, deep sigh– he seemed considerably weakened. His soaking wet hair fell into his face, dangling like a curtain. James had a strange urge to tuck it behind his ear. He tugged on the sleeve of his maroon sweater instead.

James sat on the carpet next to him, and brought out the emergency kit. He first took his pulse, then tore the boy's shirt open to clean the wound. The tattered shirt on the floor stood out against the perfection of the room, everything neat and in its place… Except for the intruder. But where did he belong, if not here?

"This..."

James couldn't help but stare. He wasn't familiar with this type of injury. It had carved out a shallow ridge in the flesh of his shoulder joint.

"A bullet wound?"

"Yeah." The intruder looked up, shaking the hair out of his face. It was a casual answer. "It barely scratched me. What's your fancy term for this? A graze wound?"

"I'm no doctor. I'm still a student, and I don’t specialize in medicine."

"Of the Gifted Curriculum?"

"Starting next month!" James couldn’t keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

"Wow. Smart guy, huh?"

There was a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. James lifted his gaze from the wound, and looked him in the eye.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Making fun of you? When I'm being patched up so lovingly? Never. So what's your specialization?"

James told him how he specialized in ecology. He had just been accepted into the Gifted Curriculum. Ecology. It had the least to do with how to treat a bullet wound. From the boy's face, he could tell that too. His first experience. It was a little exciting.

Let's see, what do I have to do first? Disinfect, dress ... oh, yes, I have to stop the bleeding.

"What are you doing?"

The boy stared as James took a syringe out of the disinfecting kit, and swallowed. He began to prepare the anesthetic as he spoke.

"Local anesthesia. Alright, here goes."

"Wait-“ The boy held his hand up, “Wait a minute. You're gonna freeze it, and then what?"

"Sew it."

Supposedly James had said this with a smile so wide that he looked like he couldn't have been enjoying himself more. It was something he found out much later on.

"Sew it! Can you get any more primitive than that?"

"This isn't a hospital. I don't have state-of-the-art facilities, and besides, I think a bullet wound is pretty primitive itself."

The crime rate in the city was infinitely close to zero. The city was safe, and there was no need for the average citizen to carry a gun; if they did, it would only be for hunting. Twice a year, rules were lifted for hunting season, and hobbyists would venture into the northern mountains to hunt, olden-day firearms slung over their shoulders. James’ mother didn't like them. She said she didn't understand how people could kill animals for enjoyment, and she wasn't the only one. In periodic censuses, 70% of citizens expressed discomfort at hunting as a form of sport. Killing poor, innocent, animals―how violent, how cruel....

But the bleeding figure in front of James was no fox or rabbit. It was a human.

"I can't believe it," James muttered to himself.

"Believe what?"

"That there are people who'll shoot at other people... unless... don't tell me that someone from the hunting club shot you by mistake?"

The boy's lip curled. He was smirking.

"Hunting club, huh. Well, I guess you can call them that. But they didn't shoot by mistake."

"They knew they were shooting at a human? That's against the law."

"Is it? Instead of a fox, they just happened to be hunting a human. A manhunt. I don't think it's against the law." The boy shrugged, and then winced. He quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression.

"What do you mean?”

"That there are hunters, and the hunted."

"I don't get what you're talking about.” James paused, looking up at the boy as he waited for clarification.

"I figured you wouldn't. You don't need to understand. So are you seriously going to stitch me with a sewing needle? With no painkillers? Don't you have spray-on anesthetic or something?"

"I've always wanted to try giving stitches."

James disinfected the wound, and applied the anesthetic with three injections around the wounded area. His hands shook a little from nerves, but somehow it went smoothly.

"It should start getting numb soon, and then―"

"You're gonna stitch it."

"Yeah."

"Do you have any experience?"

"Of course not. I'm not going into medicine. But I do have basic knowledge of vessel suturing– I even watched a video on it once"

"Basic knowledge, huh..."

He drew a deep breath, and looked at James directly in the face. The other boy had thin, bloodless lips, hollowed cheeks, and pale, parched skin. He had the face of someone who had not lived a decent life.. He really did look like an animal; prey who had been chased relentlessly, exhausted, with no place left to run. But his eyes were different. They were emotionless, but he could feel a fierce power emanating from them. Was it vitality? James had never met anyone in his life with eyes as memorable as those. And those eyes were staring unblinkingly at James.

He was pulled out of his musings when the boy spoke. "You're strange."

"Why would you say that?"

"You haven't even asked for my name."

"Oh, yeah. But I haven't introduced myself, either."

"James, right? Doesn’t suit you."

"Yeah — wait what?” The last half of what the boy said caught up to James a second late, taking him by surprise. How could his name not suit him? It was the only one he had ever had.

“You’re like a deer.” The boy looked him up and down, then nodded as if agreeing with himself.

“A deer? How?”

“You get caught in the headlights.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it. One of these days though, you’re going to get hit, Prongs.”

“Prongs, huh?” James wasn’t sure how to feel.

“Yep.”

“And what’s your name?”

"Whiskers."

"Huh?"

"My name."

"Whiskers... that's not it."

"Not what?"

That eye color wasn't that of any cat. It was something more elegant. Like... summer leaves infiltrated with sunlight ― didn't it look like that?

James blushed, embarrassed at catching himself spouting off like some lame poet. He purposefully raised his voice.

"Right, here goes."

Remember the basic steps of the suture, James told himself. Set down two or three stable threads, and use them as support threads to make a continuous suture ... this must be conducted with utmost care and precision …

His fingers trembled. Whiskers watched his fingertips in silence. James was nervous, but a little excited too. He was putting his textbook knowledge to use on a real person. It was exhilarating. Lily would be jealous.

Suture complete. He pressed a piece of clean gauze onto the wound. A bead of sweat slid down his forehead.

"So you are smart."

Whiskers' forehead was also damp with perspiration.

"I'm just good with my hands."

"Not just your hands. That brain of yours. You're only twelve, right? And you're going into the Gifted Curriculum of the highest educational institution. You're super elite."

This time, there was no tinge of sarcasm. Nor any hint of awe. James silently put away the soiled gauze and instruments, unsure how to respond. 

Ten years ago, James was ranked highest in the city's intelligence examination for two-year-olds. The city provides anyone who ranks highest in skill or athletic ability with the best education they could wish for. Until the age of ten, he attended classes in an environment outfitted with the latest facilities amongst other classmates like himself. Under the eye of a roster of expert instructors, they were given a solid and thorough education of the basics, after which they were each provided with their own set of instructors to move into a field of specialization that was suited for them. From the day that he was recognized as the highest ranker, his future was promised to him. It was unshakeable. No small force could make it crumble. At least, that was how it was supposed to be.

"Looks like a comfortable bed," Whiskers murmured, still leaning against it.

"You can use it. But change first."

He dumped a clean shirt, a towel, and a box of antibiotics into Whiskers’ lap. And then, on a whim, James decided to make cocoa. He had enough basic cooking appliances in his room to make a warm drink or two.

"Not exactly fashionable, is it?" Whiskers sniffed as he plucked at the plaid shirt.

"Better than a dirty shirt that's ripped and covered in blood, if you ask me."

James passed him a steaming mug of cocoa. For the first time this evening, he saw what looked like a flicker of emotion in those green eyes. Pleasure. Whiskers sipped a mouthful and hummed softly.

"It's good. Better than your stitches."

"It's not fair to compare like that. I think it went pretty well for my first try."

"Are you always like that?"

"Huh?"

"Do you always leave yourself wide open? Or is it normal for all you Petri-dish elites to have zero sense of danger?" Whiskers continued, holding the mug in both hands. "Your people can get along just fine without feeling any danger or fear toward intruders, huh?" He smirked.

James felt defensive. "I do feel danger. And fear, too. I'm afraid of dangerous things and I don't want anything to do with them. I'm also not naïve enough to believe that someone who comes in through my second-floor window is a respectable citizen."

"Then why?"

He was right. Why? Why did he treat this intruder's wound, and even give him hot cocoa? James was no cold-blooded monster. He tried to help when he could, and didn’t wish ill on anybody, but he was no saint. 

But he’d taken this intruder in. If the city authorities found out, he would be in trouble. They might see him as someone lacking in sound judgment. If that happened…

His eyes were darting until they met with a pair of green ones. He felt like he could see a hint of laughter in them. Like they could see right through everything he was thinking, and laughing at him. He clenched his stomach and glared back at him.

"If you were some big, aggressive man, I would have set the alarm off right then and there. But you were short, and looked like a girl, and was about to fall over. So... So I decided to treat you. And..."

"And?" Whiskers seemed unfazed by James’ display.

And your eyes were a strange color that I'd never seen before. And they drew me in.

"And... I wanted to actually see what sewing a vessel was like."

Whiskers shrugged, and drained the rest of his cocoa. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he ran a palm across the bed sheets.

"Can I really go to sleep?"

"Sure."

"Thank you."

Those were the first words of gratitude James had heard since the boy had come into his room.